“I have a free period now,” Egill said, making ruminatory noises. “I totally agree that society is changing and we have to respond right from the start in a positive fashion. It’s important to step in and eradicate prejudice. Everyone should have the same opportunities and if children of foreign parents have more trouble in achieving at school and entering further education, then that needs to be put right. Start right away in kindergarten. Anyway, I don’t think you should waste your time on me just because I wrangle a bit at meetings. There are plenty of more obvious things to consider here when children get stabbed.”

“I’m gathering information, that’s my job. Did you have any particular dealings with the brothers, Elias or Niran?”

“No, nothing special. They hadn’t been at the school long. I believe they moved to this part of town in the spring and ended up at this school in the autumn. I taught Elias; I suppose the last time would have been the day before yesterday. The lad was clever with his hands. We don’t do complicated tasks with that age group, just sawing and that sort of thing.”

“Was he well liked in his class?”

“As far as I could see. He was just one of the kids.”

“Are you ever aware of clashes between the immigrant pupils and the others?” Erlendur asked.

“There’s not much of that sort of thing,” Egill said, stroking his beard. “Though you do get certain cliques forming. I don’t like that Icelandic teacher of ours, Kjartan. I think he causes friction in that respect. Half-bonkers, the poor sod. Had to give up a career in handball just when he was reaching the top. That sort of thing can unbalance people. But you ought to talk to him about these issues. He knows more about them than I do.”

They fell silent. The playground was quiet.

“So everything’s going to hell?” Erlendur said eventually.

“I’m afraid it is.”

They sat for a while in the smoke-filled car and then Erlendur started thinking about Sigurdur Oli, who had once been a pupil at the school. It occurred to him to ask Egill. The woodwork teacher needed to think hard before he remembered a boy who had been there all those years ago, a terribly flashy sort.

“It’s amazing what you can and can’t remember about those kids,” Egill said. “I think his dad was a plumber.”

“A plumber?” Erlendur said. He knew nothing about Sigurdur Oli apart from what he saw of him at work, even though they had been investigating crimes together for years. They never discussed their private lives, were both content not to. That, at least, they had in common.

“And a rabid communist,” Egill added. “He attracted quite a bit of attention in those days, because it was always him who came to parents” meetings and school events. It was exceptional then for fathers to be seen with their children at school. He always turned up, the old bugger, and delivered thundering speeches about the bloody conservatives.”

“What about the mother?”

“I never saw her,” Egill said. “They used to call him something, the old man. Some plumbing term. My brother’s a plumber and recognised him immediately. What was it again that they used to call him?”

Erlendur glanced sideways at the red lump. It was turning paler again.

“Why can’t I remember that?” Egill said.

“I don’t need to know,” Erlendur said.

“Yes. Now I remember. They called him Permaflush.”

Finnur, the third-form teacher, was sitting in the staff room. His class was having a music lesson and he was marking papers when Elinborg disturbed him. The school secretary had told her where to find him.

“I understand you’ve been involved in a dispute with another teacher here by the name of Kjartan,” Elinborg said after introducing herself.

“There’s certainly no love lost between Kjartan and me,” Finnur said. He was in his early thirties, thin, with a mop of dark hair and wearing a fleece jacket and jeans.

“What happened?”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Yes. My colleague did.”

“And?”

“And nothing. What happened?”

“Kjartan’s an idiot,” Finnur said. “He shouldn’t be allowed to teach. But that’s just my opinion.”

“Did he make some kind of remark?”

“He always does. But he makes sure he doesn’t go too far, because then he’d risk losing his job at this school. He’s not such a coward one-to-one.”

“What did he say?”

“It was about immigrants, the children of immigrants. I don’t think it has anything to do with this tragic incident.” Finnur hesitated. “I knew he was trying to wind me up. I think it’s fine for people from other countries to move here and I don’t care in the slightest why they come, as long as they’re not outright criminals. It doesn’t matter whether they’re from Europe or Asia. We need them and they enrich our culture. Kjartan wants to close the country to immigrants. We argued about that as usual, but he was exceptionally tetchy.”

“When was this?”

“Yesterday morning. But we’re always arguing. We can hardly see each other these days without flaring up.”

“Have you often clashed?”

Finnur nodded.

“As a rule, teachers are very egalitarian and don’t want or understand anything else. They look after the children, make sure there’s no discrimination of any kind. We take a pride in it, it’s sacrosanct really.”

“But Kjartan’s an exception?”

“He’s totally unbearable. I ought to lodge a complaint against him with the Education Board. We have no business employing teachers like him.”

“Is-?” Elinborg began.

“It’s probably because of my brother,” Finnur interrupted. “His wife’s from Thailand. That’s why Kjartan is always having a go at me. My brother met a woman in Thailand eight years ago. They have two daughters. They’re the best people I’ve ever met. So maybe I have a vested interest. I can’t stand the way he talks and he knows that.”

10

Erlendur’s mobile rang as he got out of Egill’s car. It was Gudny, the interpreter, who was back at Sunee’s flat. Erlendur had asked her to be at Sunee’s beck and call, day and night, and to contact him if anything happened. Niran had woken up after a rough night, she reported. His condition was unchanged. He refused to talk to anyone. Sunee insisted that he be left alone. She did not want any experts around him. She did not want any such visitors, or police officers, roaming in and out of the flat. Erlendur said he would drop in on them shortly, and they rang off.

Elinborg and Sigurdur Oli were still gathering information from Elias’s classmates when Erlendur returned to the school. He watched them for a while. The children appeared to be making all manner of complaints about each other, but these rarely involved Elias directly. Someone had teased two girls, someone else had been kept out of a game of football, someone else had thrown a snowball so viciously at a boy’s leg that it made him cry, but not Elias. Sigurdur Oli looked over to Erlendur and made a gesture to say that it would all take its time. The children were appalled at Elias’s death and some of them were crying.

Erlendur phoned the head of the narcotics squad and asked him to investigate any drug offences that had occurred in the neighbourhood and might conceivably be linked to the school playground.

The principal looked rough and haggard, as if he had not slept well that night. Waiting in front of his office were people from the church and parents” association, as well as representatives from the police who were going to address the children in the assembly hall at lunchtime. They all crowded round the principal, who seemed to have no control over the situation whatsoever. The matter seemed too much for him to handle. His secretary appeared and informed him of some urgent telephone calls that he had to take, but the principal waved her away. Erlendur looked at the group and backed away. He followed the secretary and found out where he could locate Niran’s form teacher.